


Sometimes You Just Get Animal Sad and Need Something to Make You Animal Happy

by MellytheHun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Derek Needs a Hug, Derek Uses His Words, Derek's Man Pain Feels Jamboree, Implied Torture, M/M, Pack Feels, Stiles is snarky, Witches, hugs for everyone, okay i'm done, sterek, this fic is all about hugs, vague mention of imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Stiles hugs Derek and 1 time Derek hugs Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Just Get Animal Sad and Need Something to Make You Animal Happy

**Author's Note:**

> There's implied torture in this. Also, there was going to be sex, but I lost my confidence in writing about 3/4s through. There's strong language throughout.

**The Unreciprocated Hug**

* * *

The first time Stiles hugs Derek, it's out of relief and he blames it entirely on an adrenaline-high.

Scott and Isaac are busy finishing off a fairly violent exchange with werewolf hunters (a fight that started because Stiles had managed to snark his entire pack into a tense throw-down). They were 'patrolling' woods that, as Stiles had expressed, they had no business patrolling. Things dissolved quickly from there, but the pack soon found that the hunters had no connection to the Argents and upon calling Stiles' a 'sympathizer', the pack got their final read on the guys. It wasn't a good one.

Despite kicking ass and taking names in the beginning, Derek, as per usual, has somehow been rendered unconscious. Stiles plays his previously accepted role as 'The Derek Whisperer/Waker' - Allison, at some point, had joked - something along the lines of Stiles being Derek's Prince Charming, waking him with a kiss. Stiles corrected her, that while it was a kiss, it was with his strong, manly fist. As Stiles recalls, she was severely unimpressed.

He finds himself hunched over Derek's prone form, shaking him. Stiles notices the blood under Derek's head and no matter how many times he sees the werewolves heal, he'll never get used to seeing them hurt. It still fills him with sickening lumps and drops his heart from high towers. The amount of blood puddled under Derek's stupid, soft, perfect fucking hair is alarming and he's scared, for the first time, to hit Derek into consciousness.

Stiles' clothes are bloody and sweaty and his palms are clammy, his hair, his face – it all feels oily and caked and shaking. His pulse is jumping and he's kind of amazed that his rapid heartbeat alone hasn't woken Derek. He grips Derek's face as certainly as he can with his nimble, nervous fingers and tires to call on the Spark in him. He tries to will Derek awake.

He's mostly shocked by it working. Like 54% shocked by it working.

He's like 20% shocked by Derek's first conscious word being 'Stiles'.

He's also partially (the remaining 26%) inappropriately aroused by Derek's first conscious word being 'Stiles'.

Derek slowly blinks into wakefulness and looks at Stiles – he looks concussed, kind of dreamy and out of place. Stiles wonders if a knock to the head might get some of Derek's aggression erased, like Fred Flinstone with his bowling-ball-concussions. That only serves to make Stiles imagine Derek in a loincloth, smoking a cigar and pretending to be a mob thug. All of it is wrong and his dick's reaction to _everything is wrong_.

"Stiles?"

"Oh, man, your head," Stiles says to himself, gravely.

"Stiles."

Stiles nods and holds up three fingers, "Yup, hey there, Buddy. Hey, hey – Derek, can you look here? Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

Derek doesn't look at Stiles' hand, but at his face and asks, sleepily and sweetly, "Did we win?"

It catches Stiles so off guard with its unadulterated sweetness and naiveté that he actually laughs loudly, shaking evermore violently and ducks down to hug Derek. He gets his trembling arms around Derek's hulking torso and lets a few hysterical tears fall before wiping them with the back of his bloody, twitchy hand. He can feel Derek's body tense with surprise – and Derek's body – Derek's body is so muscular and heavy – he remembers holding up Derek's body in the pool for two hours and it makes him smile even more broadly for some reason. He notices that, despite having blood and dirt on him, Derek still feels and smells nice. Even comforting. It's confusing and really pleasant and upsetting.

"Oh, dude," He starts empathetically, finally releasing Derek's limp body, "The answer was three."

* * *

**The Polite/Comfort Hug**

* * *

To be fair, the second time Stiles hugs Derek, he doesn't know what else to do. Stiles actually finds himself in a social situation he is ill-equipped to handle, and the only tool he is eventually able to find in his nifty social-skill-set-jumbo-pack is a hug.

It's August and Stiles is walking back home from his summer job. He mostly unconsciously detours into the woods and to Derek's old house. Something in him – the Spark – tells him to go there. It feels important at the time. Not important enough to run, but important enough that he couldn't move any closer toward home – only to the heart of the woods.

He finds Derek sitting Indian-style in front of his dilapidated childhood home, holding flowers. Stiles freezes when he stumbles upon the scene – he knows Derek heard him coming, probably a mile away too. But Derek doesn't turn to face him.

Stiles can read Derek's mood, because he's found himself in that fog before. Where remembering someone is necessary and wonderful at the same time that it's horrible and painful and lonely. He briefly contemplates running in the other direction, but the air is easy, if a little tense. It's manageable. He feels like he can mold the atmosphere, like he can help, so he steps forward.

He comes to stand at Derek's side and when Derek doesn't look up at him or give him any other sign of acknowledgement, Stiles sits down beside him. He folds his legs in to match Derek's posture and stays quiet for all of ten seconds.

"I know today's not the date of the fire. So, what are you doing here?"

"It's my baby cousin's tenth birthday today."

Stiles bites his bottom lip nervously, scratches the back of his head and ducks a little. All he can muster is a murmured, "I… didn't realize."

Derek sighs and it's such a frustrated sound that Stiles feels the need to meet Derek's eyes. He's glaring at the ground, though. Like it's personally offended him. Derek looks like that at most things, though.

"What?" Stiles probes.

It takes a short moment of Derek's mouth unclenching from its tight line of discomfort before he says, "I'm worried."

"About what?" Stiles asks curiously, but with a gentle cautiousness.

"That she wouldn't like me," Derek replies simply.

Stiles smirks a little, "Come on, Big Guy, you're a little rough around the edges - so what? Couldn't her wolfy nose tell her you're a good guy?"

"She wasn't…" Derek scowls more, if it's at all possible, "she was a human."

"Oh," Stiles whispers, "I…"

He's not sure how to continue, though. He thinks about visiting his mother's grave, the few times a year he allows himself to. He imagines what he'd feel if anyone had ever followed him. He wonders what he'd want to hear. He knows, immediately, that nothing he says is going to lessen the hurt around Derek's shoulders or smoking over his eyes. So, he decides that he'll just try to be present. He'll try to be there. For Derek.

He sighs and says a little more confidently, "I know days like this suck. I'm sorry."

Derek turns to him then; his eyes are gentle and intense and give Stiles chills. He looks away because the pressure of Derek Hale's undivided attention is a little too much for him to feel all of. It makes him feel special in a totally unacceptable way. Not quite a teacher's pet, not too far off from being Lydia's freely chosen class partner. Something kind of fucked up in the between of the two.

"I know. Days like this suck," He says again, "Do you want to talk about her?"

Derek looks at him silently for a beat longer, then drops his gaze, as if he knows it's too much for Stiles to feel all at once. Stiles is silently grateful. He wonders how the betas can handle it so often. He then wonders if the betas find Derek as intense as Stiles. That way lies madness, though, so he stops his train of thought before it grows legs and runs away from him.

Derek shrugs a little, "She was cute. I was there when my aunt gave birth to her. I was one of the first people to hold her."

Stiles is shocked that Derek actually indulges and is even more shocked by how quickly he finds himself hoping that Derek doesn't stop. His voice is hypnotic, romantic and relaxing when it's not barking orders or grumbled under breaths.

"That's actually really cool," Stiles comments, "You had to have been young. You weren't grossed out?"

Derek smirks a little and it somehow lights up all of Stiles' face and makes being there five thousand times more comfortable. He's a little moved to watch Derek remember something he visibly regards as a good memory.

"No. I think it's the animal part of me," Derek replies quietly, "It was nature. I wanted to touch her, I wanted her to know that I loved her a lot and I would protect her."

Stiles smiled, charmed and started playing with the hem of his jeans. He muttered, "The animal part of you?"

"Not…" He sighs again, seeming a little confused himself, "I think everyone has it. It's just more prominent in me. In people like me."

Stiles tilts his head and nods, understanding. Quiet swells around them for a while until Stiles hears a barely audible hitched breath from Derek. He looks and he knows he catches a glimpse of a tear falling that he shouldn't have seen. He can't look away, though and he becomes fairly certain he's about die for watching. Derek smiles sadly, looking up at the house and says,

"The best advice Laura ever gave me was after the fire. She wasn't a great alpha," He pauses and astonishes and impresses Stiles by admitting, "but neither was I."

He gives Derek a short moment before Derek finally finishes, "I think it was just thrust on us too young. But she…"

He trails off again briefly, swiftly wiping a single tear from his far eye and says, "The first anniversary of the fire – we were in New York together and she took me for a long drive. We wound up, I think, somewhere outside of Pennsylvania, in a largely wooded area. We just ended up killing things all night and running and wrestling."

"That's, uhm," Stiles begins, slightly nauseous at the image and a lot nervous of fucking up a new, fragile line of communication with the notoriously difficult werewolf, "That's not exactly advice."

"No, idiot," Derek says without the usual level of animosity (Stiles notes to himself that he's weirdly depressed at the lack of snark), "The next day, she made a huge breakfast and we overate. A lot. And when I asked her why we did that, she said to me that sometimes you just get Animal Sad and you need something to make you Animal Happy again. That day, she gave me permission to be okay with my primal wants. It meant a lot."

Stiles wonders if this was Derek's way of saying that he doesn't know what would make him Animal Happy on a day like this. Stiles is out of words, then – not out of empathy, but certainly out of expressions of it. So, he carefully drapes an arm around Derek's shoulders and tugs him in a little closer. Derek looks at him curiously; his eyes fresh and clear and Stiles is envious. Whenever Stiles cries, anyone's able to tell by how red and sleepy he gets. He finds that expression of emotional capacity physically exhausting.

_Figures. The perfect jerk._

Stiles smiles a little at him, trying desperately to communicate, 'This is my Animal Feeling trying to appeal to your Animal Feeling with touch. I hope it helps.'

Derek's far hand comes to rest on Stiles' that's planted on that shoulder and his squeeze says, 'I get it. Thank you.'

* * *

**The Squeeze Hug**

* * *

The third time Stiles hugs Derek, he's just relieved, okay? Relief can make people do weird things. With their arms. That shouldn't be harshly judged.

Scott and Isaac are over for video games and pizza. Isaac had molded into a space of Stiles' life over the past seven weeks, because Derek and Cora (and Peter, for that matter) went missing around that time. The first few days, Isaac insisted that Derek would be back soon, with Cora too. That he must have just wanted space, that he was 'one of those kinds of guys, you know?' – it took a week and half before Isaac admitted that Derek's phone was turned off and he was worried. It started with the wolves trying to track any hint of Derek or Cora or Peter to anywhere. During the beginning of week three, Scott found the Camaro, wrecked in the woods with bullet holes in it. Pollen and leaves and dust were everywhere, the car was hauntingly empty and the doors were left open. The keys were still in the ignition.

Allison was able to tell the group that the markings in the dirt showed signs of a long and violent struggle. The group split from what they started to call 'the epicenter' and searched outward from there. Kira and Allison found several bullet casings and Isaac and Scott expressed their concern at the smell of old wolfsbane tainting the air and ground. It was Stiles that found the soft ground half a mile from the car that was literally still wet with deeply seeped blood. His scream brought Isaac and Scott almost immediately and they both claimed it reeked of Derek. Stiles fell into a horrible panic and the police were called. Since that day, the Sheriff had kept them posted on the search for Derek. On week four, the Sheriff told the group,

"I'm sorry, guys, but… look, I mean, Derek's an adult and he's got custody of his younger sister. If he wants to be missing, he has the right to."

Isaac had started tearing up and argued vehemently that Derek wasn't missing because he wanted to be. The Sheriff shrugged and admitted, "My gut believes you. Guys at the station are beginning to think that he staged the scene with his car, though. I just don't know how much longer I can keep his search a priority."

Stiles never let go of his phone; even when he put it in his pocket, his hand still held it there and when he slept, he let the charger wire rest on his bed beside him so he could hold it then too. He was waiting, praying for a text or call from someone, anyone – even if it was someone with a ransom or a threat. He just wanted a sign.

Nightmares destroyed week five of waiting and he had three panic attacks that week.

At the end of week six, the Sheriff came home and sat with Scott, Isaac and Stiles at the kitchen table. He was still in uniform and it was off-putting and Stiles was jumping with nerves.

"When someone goes missing, our detectives work tirelessly for the first forty-eight hours, but any minute after that seriously decreases the likelihood that we'll ever find the missing person. Alive _or_ dead. It's been weeks. The department…isn't keen on using all our resources anymore to try to find a reclusive, grown, legally adult man with a criminal background who has gone AWOL. I'm sorry, boys."

Isaac and Stiles shouted almost competitively for attention, yelling about the blood in the ground, the car being abandoned, the keys in the ignition, the shell casings – the Sheriff only apologized more and eventually left them to sit in contemplative silence.

Stiles felt like he was grieving.

Finally, at the end of week seven, Stiles is doing homework at his desk in the early evening; the sun's mostly down and it's cool and quiet. He's scribbling in his open notebook next to his trig textbook and is half listening when he overhears on his bedroom radio (that's tapped into his father's patrol car radio set),

"Arriving at 415 in progress, Sheriff,"

"What are you seeing, Parrish?"

"10-33, Sheriff, appears to be recent Missing Person, Hale!"

Stiles spasms out of his chair and ends up on the floor, on his knees in front of the radio, listening to the crackling of Deputy Parrish's voice adding with growing urgency,

"10-52, 10-52, subject is severely wounded!"

Stiles starts shaking; he knows 10-52 is a call for an ambulance and for it to come quickly. He wonders what shape Derek's in and then his insides turn to ice when he realizes he has no idea which Hale they've found. He hears his father reply,

"Ambulance is en route to you, Deputy, what condition is the subject in?"

"Sheriff, I'm… not totally sure what I'm seeing here – please, send back up, fast!"

Stiles worries at his bottom lip briefly, thinking perhaps the deputy is watching werewolf wounds knitting back together. He hears Parrish repeat his location and he leaves the house without shoes, oversized sweatpants sagging on his waist (they weren't always that way, but anxiety makes Stiles' appetite vanish and well, he hadn't felt so hot the last month or so) and a threadbare band t-shirt. He jumps into Rosco and wills her to warm quickly. She makes the same intimidating noises she always does when he's rough with turning the ignition and he just prays that this isn't the day she craps out on him.

He speeds to the location and his father is, while not surprised to see him, looking at him disapprovingly. He holds out a flat palm to Stiles in the universal 'STOP' sign, while behind him flashing lights of ambulances and patrol cars flicker and blind. Stiles glares and feels tears fill his eyes; his father looks weak and confused in the face of it.

"Is it? Dad? Is it him? Which Hale is it? Is it him? Dad?"

The Sheriff sighs, long-sufferingly and mumbles something into his walkie-talkie that Stiles knows is an order to leave the subject to emergency workers. He nods begrudgingly and guides Stiles to the back of one of the ambulances. When Stiles sees Derek, he hardly recognizes him. He's pale and uncharacteristically thin; his eyes are glassy, his hair is dark and long, his facial hair is a beard-in-progress and his hands are shaking. His bare legs and feet are dangling over the street pavement while he sits on the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a 'shock' blanket. He looks up to Stiles and his green eyes lose their smoky illusion, his face is suddenly painfully clear and half relieved and half terrified. He asks, quietly, "Stiles?"

Something inside Stiles' brain breaks and he rushes to Derek, arms snaking around Derek's lithe body. He feels horribly weak and Stiles chokes on an aborted sob when Derek's arms gently wrap around him. Derek's hug is weak, but he can feel how much strength Derek's putting into it and he only squashes him tighter. He feels the tears coming, but doesn't know when they started falling. He mutters into Derek's chest, in all seriousness, "I'm sorry if this is too tight, but I can't really control it right now."

He feels Derek sniff at his hair and Stiles exhales shakily; Derek is scenting him and everything about it is reminiscently creepy and wonderful and homey and perfect. Derek takes a long lungful, then pulls back a little to say,

"You're okay. What about – "

"Isaac, Scott, Allison, Lydia – we're all fine. Everyone's fine, We're fine, Derek, we're fine – are you, where – "

Derek shakes his head, "Someone thought I knew something I didn't. They've spent a lot of time trying to get me to admit some information I don't have. Cora's safe, she's in hiding. I told her to stay hidden until I can go find her."

Stiles shakes his head, "I'm so glad you're here," He's mildly embarrassed by how raw his voice sounds, "that you're alive, you have no idea, dude!"

Derek grunts when Stiles squeezes him tightly again.

* * *

**The Sleepy Shoulder Hug**

* * *

The fourth time Stiles hugs Derek, he's just deluded by sleepiness. He wouldn't have done it if he weren't so fatigue-brave. Or shameless. Whichever.

"Why."

Stiles wonders how and when Derek mastered asking questions without actually 'asking'. Stiles opens his mouth to reply smartly, but Derek glares at him and just says, "No."

"What? No! You can't say 'no'! You're not even supposed to know about it!"

"Stiles," Derek groans, irritated, "I'm a werewolf. I can smell the cake from downtown and the rubber from balloons – "

"Latex."

Stiles swears he sees a vein in Derek's forehead throb before he angrily over-enunciates through his teeth, "Latex."

"Okay, so, surprise birthday party turns out to not be so surprising, but you have to let us celebrate!"

"No. No I don't," Derek replies simply.

Stiles gawks, affronted, "How could you say that, man? We made the cake ourselves!"

"Exactly, and after my last near-death experience, I've decided I quite like being alive. All of you need to get out of the loft. This is _not_ happening."

They're standing outside the loft and Derek is refusing to enter. Stiles is embarrassed to know all the werewolves inside can hear their entire conversation and he feels like he's letting them down. He sighs and pleads, "Derek, man…Isaac really wanted to do this. Can you just…give us a night of not being a total dick?"

Derek scowls, but doesn't argue. Stiles rubs at his wrists absently and adds, "We just want to spend time with you, Derek."

Derek's scowl turns sourly disbelieving, to which Stiles shrugs and says, "What? We missed you!"

Derek's sourly disbelieving look turns dry and doubtful.

"Okay, I missed you," Stiles admits shyly, looking at his shoes, "Isaac felt like he was losing his family all over again – even Scott was worried. And… I missed you. I missed you and I was worried too. So."

Derek tilted his head a lot like a confused dog and Stiles wanted to make fun of him, but the stakes were too high. A party full of presents and noise makers and cake and a too-large banner that said 'Happy 28th Birthday, Derek, We're Glad You Didn't Die Recently' was hanging from the loft ceiling. It was Stiles' job to get Derek in there. And then his second job of the evening was to somehow get one of those cone-party-hats onto Derek. But, one task at a time.

"You missed me."

"Yeah," Stiles says honestly, if a little nervously.

"You were… _worried_ about me," He says, kind of indicating the door and what lies behind it. The people behind it.

Stiles nods, "Yeah, man. We were looking for you everywhere."

"And you want to spend time with me…to celebrate. Because it's my birthday."

"Yes," Stiles says emphatically, nodding with his entire body.

Derek pauses again for a long moment before conceding and saying, "Fine."

"Derek, for like a second in your life would you just – wait, did you just agree?"

"I'm about to take it back," Derek growls – but Stiles is already on the Happy Train headed straight for stop numero uno, Birthday Party at Cassa de Sourwolf. He grins stupidly and leads Derek inside the loft.

He appears caught off guard by the vibrant colors and the stupid banner that has star and heart stickers all over it. The cake is pretty bad, but it's mostly frosting anyway, so everyone eats absolutely disgusting amounts of it. Kira plays their DJ and, after raiding Derek's car CDs, Stiles put together the perfect playlist for her to mess around with. (When Stiles found out Derek likes The Black Keys, he nearly had a fit and just kept saying for days, 'can you _believe_ what a hipster he is?' – as it turned out, Isaac and Scott had no trouble believing it and mostly smirked knowingly at him while he, with the help of Lydia, arranged the entire party)

It took twenty minutes of convincing to get Derek to sit down on the living room couch to open presents. He looked like he was in physical pain the entire time. His first gift was from Isaac; Isaac took notice of how many books Derek reads and how many have been destroyed beyond recognition or salvaging; to remedy it, he saved up and bought Derek a kindle. He even downloaded a bunch of books for him and made it read-ready for Derek. Derek smiled really warmly and wrapped an arm around Isaac's shoulders, shaking him in a friendly way and saying "Thanks, Isaac. This is really nice of you."

And Stiles immediately said out loud, "And his heart grew three whole sizes that day!" – he was promptly cuffed behind the head.

Scott and Allison presented Derek with a very cool looking watch; Derek looked put off by how nice it is and Allison went on to describe its secret additions. She assured him he can wear it, no matter what the circumstances, then showed him the GPS tracker on it, the radio dials and recorder on it. He nodded with a smile to Scott and put a firm hand on Allison's shoulder and thanked her in a very deep voice. Stiles was absolutely not jealous - it's just that Allison flaunted it the rest of the night, saying, "How _Papa Bear_ was that? Derek gave me a _friendly touch_!"

Derek gets handed another box, the most perfectly wrapped one and he just says, "Lydia," and she smiles proudly at him. He looks somewhat suspicious, but he's starting to smile too. Stiles looks over Derek's shoulder while Kira takes pictures like a paparazzi and Derek uncaps a box. He pulls out a brand new, expensive-looking, black leather jacket. Scott, Isaac and Stiles start to chuckle knowingly and even Allison starts to smile, (though Kira can't appreciate it fully, she smiles too). Derek gets up from his seat, holding the jacket and walks over to Lydia's seat at the kitchen table. She looks alarmed at first, and he doesn't ease her by getting down on his knees. He looks at the jacket in his hands, then back to her and says,

"Lydia. You remind me of Laura every day."

The laughter stops, the smiles suffer a little and she looks down at Derek in astonishment. His expression is easy, though and he says, smiling at her,

"She got me my first leather jacket. When we moved to New York, she said 'you're a real New York Guy now, you need to look tougher' and she bought me a leather jacket, three sizes too big. She told me she knew I'd get strong and big enough to fill it out proudly and eventually I did. It started off as a joke, but, without it…"

He trails off and reaches up one of his hands and rests it on Lydia's bare knee, only just being touched by the hem of her frilly skirt. He grips the jacket a little tighter and says, "Just… thank you, Lydia. This means a lot."

She nods to him and he gingerly pets her hair before rising and going back to his seat. He strips his old jacket and tries on the new one. And if Stiles weren't turning all different shades of the rainbow from feelings of jealousy, inadequacy and amazement, he'd have whistled alongside Allison and Lydia and Isaac at the sight of Derek in his spankin' new jacket. He looks edible in it.

Lydia and Allison talk all night about Derek being so sweet and Lydia just keeps saying, "I knew it just took a little love. The guy just needs a hug every now and again."

Stiles tends to disagree; cranky is Derek's comfort zone. He thinks Derek is perfectly Derek just the way he is.

He's got the warm fuzzies back until he sees Derek unwrapping his gift. He immediately wishes he'd gotten something less serious and wants to grab it out of Derek's hands, but he's far too late. Kira is already documenting the entire unwrapping process and Derek is holding the small black box in one hand and the comics in the other.

"That's, uh… it's called The Hungry Wolf – it's a vintage werewolf comic books series. It, uh… the main character is a born one and he wants to avenge his werewolf mother's death. He keeps her fang on a chain around his neck…and uh… I…"

Derek is holding the chain from the jewelry box in his hand and examining it. He smells it closely and is shocked backward. He looks at Stiles, wild-eyed and Stiles' voice cracks, "M-maybe I shouldn't have, I just – I asked my dad – in the evidence locker, it was just – I can – if this was out of line, I – "

"I love this," Derek tells him quickly.

The room is silent except for the fast click of Kira photographing Stiles' unattractive, open mouth. It snaps him into real time and he asks, cautiously, "Really?"

"I didn't know this part of my mother still existed, Stiles. You just gave me back a piece of my mother," He answered.

Stiles nodded, "I.."

"Thank you, Stiles," He adds, reverently, while gazing at the fang on the end of the chain and he even smiles at the comics.

The evening evolves back into laughter; Lydia claps Stiles on the shoulder and says, "Look, I usually pride myself on being the best gift of any party, but that was pretty good, Stiles. I'll one-up you next year."

Stiles nods, not realizing people ever considered these kinds of things a competition. He's sort of just glad he survived giving Derek his gift.

After Lydia has gone home and Isaac, Scott, Allison and Kira are cleaning in the kitchen, Derek grabs Stiles' wrist and drags him into the living room, where his Birthday Playlist is still going. Mad About You is playing by Hooverphonic and he feels suddenly very alone.

With Derek.

"Give me your hands, Stiles," Derek orders.

Stiles presents his hands that are a little stained with coloring from the icing, because he's coming down from a sugar-high and he's too exhausted to tell Derek he doesn't take orders. Derek takes them and wraps them around his shoulders. He puts his hands at Stiles' waist and just says quietly, "Don't be an asshole about it."

Stiles gulps audibly and nods; he supposes sweethearts call it dancing, but really, he just starts to sway with Derek. He pulls his arms around Derek's shoulder a little more tightly, in a hug and eventually relaxes his tired neck against the crook of Derek's. He sighs and he hears Derek do the same. He closes his eyes and feels the sugar crash taking hold of him quickly. He feels floaty, like he's dreaming and he could fall asleep against Derek like this; head tucked into Derek's shoulder and warm in Derek's strong arms. He feels safe.

"So, tell me more about these vintage comic books you got me."

Stiles smiles into Derek's neck and opens his eyes. He watches with unadulterated fascination as Derek's jugular jumps at an unusually high pace. He shrugs as much as he can and replies, "The main character reminded me of you. He's super hardcore and cool, with great hair and he also broods around French windows a lot too. I feel like you two would totally get each other."

Derek chuckles and it's totally unfamiliar and highly welcome to Stiles' flattered ears. Derek says, "Right. Well, I… besides the other gift, I just…"

The song ends and Stiles pulls back a little to look Derek in the eyes, but neither of them move their hands. Derek's brows are pinched in concentration, but he finally says, "I…I had an older brother. And the last birthday I had with him, he got me comics too. They went down with the house, a long time ago, and it just… it reminded me of a good day. So. Thanks. For that."

Stiles tried desperately to lid his shocked eyes and keep his mouth shut. He nodded again and then he asks Derek, "Sooo, I'm like your pack now?"

"You were always my pack."

Stiles laughs nervously and then appears visibly confused by himself.

_What is this? Am I a thirteen year old girl?_

"Uhm. So, a brother now? Wolf brothers by proxy?"

Derek contemplates this, then shakes his head and is far too close to Stiles' face when he says, "No. Something else. Closer."

Stiles gulps again and watches Derek's eyes drop to see it happen. He shifts a little and feels the chain around Derek's neck, under his Henley. He smiles at him, thinking that Derek is a lot softer inside than Derek probably even knows. It occurs to him, then and he makes a surprised 'Oh!' sound and backs up, releasing Derek's neck. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cone-birthday-hat and puts it around Derek's angry face.

He laughs so hysterically that Allison has to come out and see what the matter is. Once she laughs herself into tears, Derek throws it off and stomps into his room, hoarding his gifts with him.

* * *

**The Nuzzle Hug**

* * *

The fifth time Stiles hugs Derek, he has no excuse. He has realized by this point that he's developed a thing. A thing about Derek. A thing he really doesn't want, but already has a severe case of. Affection for Derek Hale comes on slowly, but wraps around every corner of one's life. In this case, it's Stiles' life. So, affection for Derek Hale is kind of like an aggressive bacterial growth that has developed all over Stiles' brain without him noticing. It's like having a single, last English muffin and after taking a first bite, you notice it has mold on the other end of it. Except, rather than feeling shocked and disgusted, Stiles feels vaguely annoyed, betrayed by his own consciousness and aroused.

It's not entirely fair to say that he didn't have a reason to hug Derek. He had an out, if he was questioned. He was just trying to fit in with the wolves.

The witches had really scared them all, but finally, after weeks of finding victims, dead woodland animals, ashen trees and fighting for their lives, they came out the other end, safely. That is, after Stiles had been ultimately saved by Scott and Derek from being a virgin sacrifice. He was fairly surprised by Isaac hugging him and sniffing his hair. Isaac wasn't usually that forward, but since Derek's kidnapping those months ago, he'd been a little more clingy. He chuckled through it and insisted he was okay, unharmed, but Isaac only relented after having gotten a good lungful of Eau de Stiles. Scott was the next to invade his personal space bubble with his nose. Stiles couldn't even take that seriously, though, he just ended up laughing and trying to push Scott away.

Allison and Kira joined and Lydia too, they all were giving him concerned touches to his shoulders, back and face while Scott tried to sniff him. He appreciated the concern, though and the relief of being safe was catching up with him on a kick of adrenaline. His heart was pounding and that made Isaac whine like a puppy. When Derek came up to the group, he stopped in front of Stiles and sort of…

Waited.

For permission.

Stiles smiled at him and spread his arms to represent an open invitation. Derek took it and welcomed himself into Stiles' personal space bubble. Derek's nose started in his scalp while his hands cupped Stiles' head to keep him still. He asked, a little hard of breath, "You okay, idiot?"

"Yeah, man. I'm okay," Stiles replied, basking in the attention.

No matter how long Scott was alpha, there was just nothing compared to the Papa Bear affection of grown Derek Hale. Alpha or not, he had a certain something about him that screamed security and protection. When Derek dipped lower and stared sniffing around Stiles' neck, he didn't laugh and it didn't tickle or embarrass him. He felt daring, his heart was beating rapidly and his hormones were practically a fog around his eyes, they were almost pungent. Actually, they probably were literally pungent to some of the aforementioned company.

He stretched his arms around Derek, then, hugging him bravely and tucked his face into Derek's neck and breathed in deeply. He could describe Derek's scent as pine-like, foresty, natural, even musky. But that wouldn't capture it. Derek's scent is romantic and overwhelming, masculine, intoxicating and wild. He smells like a strong wind feels against skin, he smells the way rain dropping from forest leaves look after a storm, he smells the way an orchestra playing in a slow major tune sounds. Stiles' eyes flutter closed and he thinks he might actually groan out loud. He presses himself more against Derek and hugs him more tightly. He tucks his face further into Derek's neck and rubs his face there a little. He sighs contentedly when Derek finally hugs him back and nuzzles behind his ear a little. He's vaguely aware of Scott asking what the fuck is happening and being shushed by Allison.

* * *

**\+ 1 The Bear Hug**

* * *

The first time Derek hugs Stiles is right before summer break of their senior year. Derek is at the Stilinski house, sitting at the kitchen table with the Sheriff. The mail is displayed before them with responses to college applications. A lot of them look like thick packets and Derek knows that's not what a rejection letter looks like. One is from Berkley, another is from NYU and another is from Yale. He's got a palm up against his forehead and he laughs disbelievingly to the Sheriff,

"I knew he was smart. I knew, I just…"

"It's amazing, I know," The Sheriff smiles, "I forget sometimes too. It's hard to believe in the genius of a kid that eats starbursts and black coffee for breakfast. Day by day, he seems so regular, but he's always been special."

Derek nods and looks at the unopened packet from Yale. The Sheriff sees the faraway look in Derek's eyes and puts down his mug of coffee into the sink. He walks back over and puts a comforting hand on Derek's broad shoulder. He says gently,

"You know, I heard him talking about Beacon Hills Community too."

"No," Derek replies quickly, "No. He's too smart to stay here. This is Yale. I'll punch him if he tries to stay here."

The Sheriff laughs heartily and says, "I said something similar. I think you and I both know, though, that the kid is going to do whatever the hell he pleases whether we like it or not."

Derek nods solemnly, looking down at the envelope again.

"Derek, son. I'm glad you're here and in one piece. And no matter whether or not Stiles is here or away at college, I want you to know this is your home too."

Derek looks back at the Sheriff and touches the Sheriff's hand that's planted firmly on his shoulder. He smiles a little sadly and replies, "Thank you."

"You got it, kiddo. I'm headed to work now. Whenever Stiles gets home, let him know there's pizza money in the usual drawer."

"Nonsense," Derek dismisses with a private smile, "After he reads these acceptance letters, I'm taking him for something really nice. I'll even make sure there's cake."

The Sheriff laughs and says gladly, "Now that sounds like a plan. Derek, if there's one thing I know anymore in this world, it's that I can trust my boy with you. And I can't tell you how much it means to me to have that."

Derek rises from his seat and gives the Sheriff a quick hug. The Sheriff leaves shortly after and Derek doesn't wait long before he hears the familiar squeaks of the Jeep coming into the driveway. When Stiles walks in, he's humming loudly. He stops when he sees Derek and goes still, opens his mouth to say something along the lines of a greeting but he doesn't get through whatever he wants to say, because he finds himself wrapped up in a lot of Derek.

Like…

 **A lot** of Derek.

More Derek than he imagined there was.

Infinite Derek.

Derek's chest is thick with muscle; his big werewolf arms are heavy around him, clothed in satiny skin. Derek's hands are gripping him like a vice and he can hear Derek inhaling along his scalp. While he would've been surprised and humored by that particular bit normally, he's too busy trying to process being within Derek Hale's personal space bubble (of Derek's own volition) to think about why it's funny at all. His face is smushed into Derek's shoulder and even though Derek's sweaty, he isn't overly so and he still smells incredibly good ( _Figures. The perfect jerk_.). Stiles is frozen still with shock and doesn't even realize he hadn't hugged back until Derek is pulling away from him, flexing his hands like he's forgotten how to control them.

Stiles looks at him, wide-eyed and wondering.

"What's going on?" Stiles asks.

"You… the mail…"

Stiles nods slowly, glancing into the kitchen and seeing the obvious envelopes with school symbols on them, he nods again. He looks to Derek and Derek seems twitchy before he hugs Stiles again. This time, he picks Stiles up off his feet and the weight of Derek's strength is absolutely crushing. He groans in protest before Derek finally lets go again, keeping his hands on Stiles' shoulders. He says, "I'm really fucking proud of you."

Stiles stares in amazement and, to his horror, feels his eyes getting a little glassy.

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah, Stiles," Derek tells him, "I'm really, really fucking proud of you."

Stiles dives forward and clutches at Derek again and the hug, while strong, is gentle and, finally, both parties are completely involved. Stiles opens his mouth to say how much he'll miss Derek and the pack and Beacon Hills, but what comes out refuses to be filtered and is just,

"Yale and Berkley and NYU sound amazing and I'm sure I could handle the pressure, but I'm scared to leave me dad and I'm scared that like, if I leave the pack, I'll not be part of the pack anymore and I'm also disgustingly in love with you and I don't want to leave."

Derek pulls away a little to look Stiles in the eyes. He's wearing the newer leather jacket that Lydia got him a few months ago for his birthday, and the watch and the necklace and Stiles saw the kindle that was sitting on the kitchen table and his heart just doubles its time.

"You suck, Derek. You are fucking monosyllabic and aggressive and you were really mean to me when we first met, but you really care about me and the pack and everyone and you always want to save innocent people and you're like fucking annoying as hell and you have the worst plans ever, but you're really, really worth the annoying stuff and your facial hair is like expertly clipped and you smell so fucking good, all the time – it's really, it's frustrating, okay? And you make me feel safe. And. I love you. So…"

Derek starts to smile and Stiles' heart skips.

"You're annoying too."

Stiles' jaw drops and he makes a squawking kind of sound, flails his arms angrily and says, "Is that – is that all you got from all that?"

"Your hair looks like birds with dementia live in it, you always smell like arousal and sugar. It's like it physically pains you to not talk back and you start a lot of trouble, but you're worth it too."

Stiles blinks and says, "I'm pretty sure that's the most words you've ever said to me consecutively."

Derek rolls his eyes, "I love you too, Stiles."

Derek hears Stiles' heart do something loud against his chest cavity and he hears Stiles murmur, "What? No."

Derek actually laughs at him, which embarrasses Stiles, but Derek can't really help it.

"Yes. Actually, you aren't in a position to tell me otherwise."

"I could be." Stiles smirked.

Derek quirked a confused brow before Stiles added, "In a position."

Derek scowled and Stiles' smirk grew broader, "A _sexual_ position."

"Shut up," Derek growls, rolling his eyes and tugging Stiles in close, "You…are completely impossible."

"Thanks, man."

Stiles pushes back a little and tilts his head, inviting Derek. Derek watches his lips and he licks them, unconsciously. His eyes traipse along Derek's stupidly pretty face and he says, "I hugged you first. It's your turn."

Derek smiles upon remembering and utters, "Fair enough," before kissing Stiles deeply.


End file.
